


Anyone But Him

by surelysaiyangood



Series: Royal Kin [1]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst and Romance, F/M, Pre-Android Saga, Romance, Slow Build, Three Year Gap (Dragon Ball)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-08 17:16:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14698752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surelysaiyangood/pseuds/surelysaiyangood
Summary: Vegeta has been staying on Earth for 3 months now, and he's getting tired of his training being interrupted by Bulma and Yamcha's fighting. He decides to take things into his own hands to get some peace and quiet, but what if he gets more than he bargained for? Story 1 of a trilogy.





	1. Bickering

" _I told you already! I paid it, but they're charging me a **late fee**!_ "

Vegeta could hear it from the ship. Aggravated, he turned and spat down on the tile. _They were at it again._ The woman and that _ferret_ known as _Yamcha_ , upstairs in the house, arguing like two overgrown children. It was so ridiculous that the saiyan felt pathetic even acknowledging it, yet it was too obnoxious for him to ignore.

_They were **always** arguing. _

Was it that the Woman was some type of masochist? She referred to Yamcha as her _boyfriend_ , an Earth word that seemed to be synonymous with the Saiyan term " _mate"_. Yet at every waking moment she was either ranting _to_ him – or ranting _about_ him. If he didn't know better, Vegeta would have thought that she detested the salamander. And this was something he could certainly agree with doing – Yamcha was the type of scum that would be quite fun to rip apart, limb-from-limb. If Bulma were to declare that she hated the bastard with every fiber of her being, then Vegeta would have found the scene too amusing to take. But the fact was that she evidently _didn't_ hate the fool. If the Woman disliked Yamcha so much, then why was she always in his company? Vegeta wasn't sure what the deal was between those two, but he'd be damned if he cared enough to get caught up in it. Yet here he was, standing in his ship, and growing increasingly irritated by the fight that was erupting in that house. Those two seemed to do nothing but distract the Saiyan from his own training!

_'Nevermind them.'_ He thought as he bit his lip. Oh, how he hated that he was having to spend his time in the place. It'd been three long months that he'd been staying with the Bluehead, using each day to push his muscles to their limits and attempt to understand how exactly he could ascend to the level that Kakarot had already managed. He _needed_ to become a Super Saiyan, and he needed it _now._ He probably would have already achieved such a thing, too, if it wasn't for the never-ending distractions that the Briefs residence held. _If only he could just disappear into the depths of space – to train alone and focus completely on strengthening his abilities._

It wouldn't do to leave, though. Where would the fallen Saiyan prince go? There was not a place he could think of where he could reside – at least, not a place where he could also have a couple of knowledgeable scientists waiting on him hand and foot. The fact of the matter was that the Bluehead and her father were of use to Vegeta. That wretched Gravity Machine that they'd designed was genius, and it worked _so damned well,_ too!

And the blonde woman – the one that Bluehead referred to as " _mom_ ". She was absolutely mental, yet she seemed to understand her duty of keeping the Saiyan Prince's stomach full. At any moment he could walk into that kitchen and find her standing over the stove, putting together some type of delicacy that would be sure to leave him satiated. He hated the way that blonde bimbo cooed over him, but it was easy to overlook when she performed her job as the household chef so well.

In theory, his current situation was as good as it could get. But there was only one setback – one which seemed to ruin everything that was beneficial about staying on this hellhole known as _Earth._

It was that filthy, pathetic, frail little dirtball known as _Yamcha_. The peasant was always in the Woman's bedroom, complaining to her about one thing or another. If he would just leave for once and for all, then surely these Earthlings would have a substantially greater amount of time to dedicate to perfectly training machines! And at this very moment Yamcha was up in the Woman's room, taking up all of her time with his incessant whining.

_'He's using up all her time again.'_ It was with this thought that Vegeta lost what little patience he had. _She should be designing the latest product to kick his ass!_ "Damn it all!" He turned angrily, opening his palm and allow a blast of light to shoot out at an unsuspecting battle bot. The damned thing hadn't even been switched on, so it didn't stand a chance to defend itself against the angered Saiyan's wrath. With a loud pop the bot exploded, black steam rising from a pile of ashed machinery.

..

"I'm tired of lending you money, when will you learn how to take care of yourself?!" Bulma was sitting at the desk in her room, glowering up at her boyfriend. Yamcha stood above her, his hands balled into fists, an indignant look on his face.

"I get paid next week, B!" The Z-Fighter glared. "I already told you, it's not my fault my landlord decided to up the bill!"

" _That's what you said **last** month!" _Bulma hissed. Why was this such a common fight of theirs? Yamcha was _always_ coming to her, asking to be bailed out of one financial crisis or another. Just because she was the heir to a billion-dollar monopoly didn't mean that she wanted to be passing out money left-and-right to a man who was supposed to be capable of supporting himself. _It was so **hard** to be attracted to someone that seemed to always be asking for help, and was always looking for a way to deflect blame. _**She** was the _girlfriend,_ wasn't she? Should _she_ be the one depending on _him?_ "You know what, Yamcha? Perhaps if you just took responsibility of your own actions for once, you'd learn how to handle your bills more efficiently!"

"Hey!" Yamcha replied. "What kind of chump do you _take_ me for?! I already told you that it wasn't my fault, I figured _you_ of all people would understand me!"

_Great._ Bulma closed her eyes. _Here came the guilt tripping. **Always**_ with that guilt tripping. She placed her arm on the desk, allowing her forehead to sink into her palm with an exhausted sigh. Kame, she didn't have time for this. The deadline to an important project was coming up, and instead of being able to finalize those plans she was having to argue with Yamcha over a few _measly hundred dollars._

She was about to turn back at her boyfriend to respond, but in the moment her bedroom door flew open. She raised her eyebrows curiously, but Yamcha was the one who was startled enough to jump back and let out a shrill scream.

"You sound like a _girl_!" Vegeta barked, pointing a threatening finger at Yamcha.

The Z-Fighter immediately fell into a fighting pose. "You take that back, man!" He absolutely _hated_ Vegeta. He resented that man, and everytime he was reminded that Bulma was actively supporting that asshole it sent him into a blind rage.

"Enough with _you_." Vegeta waved a hand at Yamcha dismissively. He turned, crossing the room towards Bulma. In his arms he was carrying the remains of the destroyed battle bot. "Fix this for me, Woman." He said, dropping the debris on her desk.

"Oh, _jeez_." Bulma looked at the rubble, prodding it with a reluctant finger. "What did you _do?_ "

"Nevermind that." The Saiyan spat, turning to remove himself from the room. The air was filled with the odor of Yamcha's sweat, and it was making Vegeta feel more nauseous by the second. He shot a glare at the Z-Fighter, electricity sparking from his eyes. " _You'd_ better be going now. The Woman has work to do."

Yamcha, incensed, let his mouth drop open.

"Don't just stand there with that dumb look on your face! **Get out of here**!"

Yamcha turned to Bulma for help, with a look on his face that said ' _You tell him, B. This is **your** house, isn't it?'_

Bulma shrugged, turning back to the broken robot on her desk. She still had that pressing deadline to tend to, but the idea of reconstructing this bot was exciting to her scientific mind. "You heard him, didn't you? We'll have to finish our conversation later."

" _Bulma!_ " Yamcha snapped, his hands balling into fists. "You're not seriously gonna take _his_ side, are you?!"

She rolled her eyes, slapping her hands down on her desk. "I'm not taking anybody's side, but Vegeta's right! I've got work to do!" She stood then, placing her hands on her hips. She turned to see what Vegeta's reaction was, and she found that she was oddly disappointed to see he was already gone.

_Damn_ … _Vegeta had already removed himself from the scene_ …

"You _always_ take his side, any time – any day!" Yamcha was howling. Bulma ran a hand through her hair, feeling as the **_anger_** took over. The Z-Fighter had such a good way of pushing her to the limit, and he'd done it. She was **pissed.**

**.**

Vegeta could hear the two screaming at each other as he stepped out of the house and into the backyard. He was heading back for the ship, a smirk spread across his face. He knew it would only be a matter of minutes before Yamcha went racing for his car. He didn't care to know what they were saying – but what he _did_ know was that the Bluehead always had a way of winning all of their fights. _Finally_ , he thought. There would be some peace a quiet around this hellhole, once again. At least, there would be enough silence for him to be able to train without distractions. The Briefs residence was never exactly _peaceful._ And sure enough, by the time Vegeta made it to the other end of the yard he could hear the little fool racing for his car and yelling under his breath. Something about an _asshole,_ Vegeta was sure that Yamcha was referring to the Saiyan Prince himself.

He stepped into the ship, clicking on the gravity machine and dropping into a pose. Vegeta began to power up, feeling as adrenaline and testosterone coursed through his veins. He'd found a way to put an abrupt end to the Woman and Yamcha's arguing, and it was enough to make him feel smug. Silence was now fallen over the Briefs residence, and Vegeta could now clear his mind and focus only on perfecting his moves.

.

"Here you go," Bulma stood, looking tired and groggy, holding out a shiny battle bot. It was the next morning, and it almost appeared as if she'd stayed up the entire night finishing the task.

"Took you long enough," Vegeta grunted. He grabbed at the bot, snatching it from the woman's clutches and holding it up into the air so he could examine it closely. "This one looks different. What did you do to it?"

"The last one was too messed up – I ended up having to just make a new one." Bulma felt her cheeks filling with air, offended by Vegeta's conduct. "Oh, and _you're welcome,_ by the way. This is the 'Thanks' you give me after I spent so much time doing you a favor?"

The Saiyan clicked on the battle bot and dropped it, allowing the robot to hover in the air beside him. He then crossed his arms over his chest, shooting a threatening scowl at the woman in front of him. "I thank you by allowing you to live, and don't you _forget that_."

"Right." Bulma replied sarcastically. "Excuse me. I guess I figured I would be dead by now if you actually had any intention of acting on your words. How many times have you told me you could kill me, again?"

This was something that the Woman did often. She was never really shy of giving him mouth, was she? Vegeta studied her features, his arms still crossed over his chest. _It was ironic, to say the least._ The first time he'd seen her had been on Namek. They'd locked eyes on that planet, and she'd been so timid that she'd been shaking violently with fear. The way she'd been cowering, and still there was an aura about her that Vegeta found enticing. He couldn't put his finger on _what_ exactly it was, but there was something about her. She was certainly _different,_ even back then he could tell. Even back on Namek, something about the Bluehead intrigued him enough that he spared her life. _Perhaps this was it now._ That aura he'd felt back on Namek, perhaps it was her hot-head - unafraid to argue with him despite the undeniable strength he had over her. Even at this moment she was shooting him a fiery look with her hands clapped on her hips, and it was more than refreshing to be challenged by such a weakling.

"Well?" Bulma was growling now. "Say it, then! Let's hear it!"

"Are you insane, Woman?" Vegeta grunted finally. "I already told you that you'll live to see another day. Now get away from me before I lose my patience and change my mind!"

Bulma welled her little fingers into fists. She let out a soft screech at the back of her throat, but she turned and walked away regardless. She left Vegeta alone in the ship, the new training bot hovering by his side. Vegeta watched her as she went, a smirk crossing over his face once again. She was so laughably weak, and it was amusing for such an irrelevant ki to attempt to act so large.

_Nevermind that,_ he thought, turning to the bot. It was time to test that new machinery out!

.

…Unfortunately for Vegeta, he only made it another day with silent training before he heard it again.

**The cockroach.**

That oaf was back upstairs in the Woman's room, once again giving her unnecessary grief. It seemed as if Yamcha was desperate for attention! Couldn't he give his bitching a rest for longer than a few mere hours? He must surely like the sound of his own voice, he could never shut it up! Vegeta let out an exasperated groan and turned. Within a few moments his new training bot was now laying in a steaming heap of rubble, just as the first one had. And a few minutes later he'd delivered it to Bulma, once again successfully breaking up the argument she was having with Yamcha.

This time when he'd walked in them, though, he'd encountered the Bluehead _crying._ What in the hell could the Woman have to _cry_ about with Yamcha? It was perplexing, and to his chagrin the thought invaded Vegeta's mind even as he returned back to his ship. The Woman had enough spine to stand up to the Saiyan prince himself – something that even Yamcha was terrified to do – yet such a useless man had been capable of reducing her to tears? It was pathetic! Did the Woman have no self respect at all?

_Perhaps she **really** was a masochist, after all. _

Vegeta forced the thoughts from his mind and continued with his workout, cranking the gravity machine up as much as he could manage. He did well, once again finding satisfaction now that Yamcha had removed himself from the Briefs residence.

What bothered the Saiyan was when the next day came and went, and Bulma still hadn't delivered the new robot. She was taking much longer this time around than normal, and it was unacceptable. It wouldn't do to have her working so inefficiently! So, with that thought, Vegeta stormed upstairs and into her room. He saw her when he walked in, sitting at her desk with her head resting in the palm of her hand. Her shoulders were slouched, and she seemed as if she were absolutely lost in her own thoughts.

"Woman," Vegeta cleared his throat to announce his presence. Bulma turned lazily to glance at him over her shoulder, but she didn't reply. Her lower lip trembled as she sadly watched him, and he could tell she must not be feeling well to be so blatantly vulnerable in his presence. The Saiyan raised an eyebrow to see her face – red, puffy, stained with tears, and looking absolutely _pitiful._ She'd been crying during her altercation with Yamcha – were these residual tears from that encounter?

"I've come to see what the progress is with the robot." The Saiyan continued. He could feel his heart rate increasing to think of Yamcha putting the Bluehead in such a state, but he quickly shot such a reaction down. What did it matter to _him_ if she wanted to allow herself to stoop to such a low state over a fiend like Yamcha? _What she chose to yearn over was of no importance to the prince of the ancient Saiyan race!_

Bulma shrugged, turning back to her desk and sighing. "I'm working on it. I might be done tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Vegeta growled. "But you've already been working on the damned thing for more than a day!"

Bulma's shoulders rose as he spoke, and she shook her head. "Excuse me! You seem to forget that I'm a very busy woman!" She shot to her feet, shooting a glare as Vegeta. Suddenly the tears were no longer in her eyes – there was just that familiar fire that he always saw when she would question his authority. She could really play off this stance well – there was no doubt that weaker forms would cower under her posture when she was angry. Her futile attitude had no effect on Vegeta, though. Yet he was secretly pleased to see such an anger manifesting in her skin. _This_ suited her more than sobbing wasteful tears over such a weak man.

_It was good to see her returning back to normal. She didn't need to be weeping for **him** any longer. _

Vegeta turned, satisfied that the Woman was seemingly cured of her melancholy. "Your productivity suffers when that _man_ comes around." He spat, crossing his arms. "If you want to know my opinion, I think you'd find better use sobbing over a _toad_ than that fool. Now get back to work." And with that he left the room, leaving her to the task at hand.

It disturbed him to realize how Yamcha had effected the Woman so dramatically. And it was even more horrific to realize that it bothered _him_ so much. Vegeta, the lone warrior, falling to a level so low as to concern himself with the shallow matters of an inferior race. Why should he care – why should he care at _all_ if someone who was so capable of creating such magnificent mechanisms chose to waste her brain on an ogre? Why should Vegeta care at all?

_Whatever,_ he thought, returning back to his ship to train once more. He _didn't_ care. It didn't matter _what_ she did… he just wished it wasn't with _Yamcha_. Anything would suit her more than _that._ She could do whatever she wanted, for all Vegeta cared, as long as it didn't interfere with her productivity.

As long as it was with _anyone_ but _him.._.

_Damn!_ Vegeta shook his head. _Here he was, doing it was again. His mind was still wandering to that Woman!_

The lone Saiyan let out a sigh.

It was going to be a _long_ three years.

* * *

****


	2. Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left feedback so far. I hope you enjoy this next installment.

Bulma sat at the kitchen table, the sun rising through the window beside her. She sipped some tea as she watched it, eyes heavy from the argument she'd had with Yamcha earlier. To be truthful, it was 6 in the morning. Her fight had occurred the evening before, but she hadn't slept a wink since. It was bad enough that Yamcha was one of _the most_ financially irresponsible people she'd ever met. It seemed that all they did lately was argue about this unstable factor in his life. His money issues were _one_ thing – but to make matters worse, he had brought _Her_ up again. Just to drive the emotional knife in a little deeper.

_Her._

_She_ was a blonde. With hair long enough to reach her hips, shirts short enough to sport her pierced navel, and calves toned enough to catch the eye of an unsuspecting man who happened to cross her trail. And she certainly _had_ caught Yamcha's attention… Her name was Ikuko, and the story was that Yamcha had met her at one of his baseball games. At least, _that_ was what he told Bulma. The Bluehead couldn't be completely sure of that – she hadn't been on speaking terms with the Z-Fighter at the time. And it certainly had come to Bulma's surprise when the two got back together a week later, only for him to confess he had taken _another girl_ out during their break. Yamcha had insisted that it had _just_ been a dinner date, and nothing more. According to him, _nothing **"inappropriate"**_ had happened between them. He claimed to not even have feelings for Blondie!

Why, then, was he so quick to bring her up during their fights? If he didn't care about Blondie at _all,_ why was it that he would use her as some sort of weapon to jab Bulma with. He would do it when the Bluehead had made an exceptionally good point, and he had no other means of comeback. And judging off of the things he'd said, Blondie was _younger_ than Bulma. Apparently Blondie also laughed at Yamcha's jokes, found his faults to be _'cute_ ', didn't have a problem with Yamcha's money situation, and overall seemed to just understand what it meant to "let loose".

Bulma knew he said it simply to upset her – to make her jealous. But she also knew that it was a way of fighting _dirty,_ and it wasn't right.

It wasn't fair…

She took another sip of her tea, staring pensively out the window beside her. By now the sun had nearly completely risen. She eyed the pink hues in the sky, noting how orange seemed to glisten from the clouds as the sunlight hit it from a specific angle. And she was starting to think once again about the ordeals from the night before when she heard someone walking in through the kitchen door. Bulma looked up groggily to see Vegeta going straight for the refrigerator.

The Saiyan had been residing in her home for a little over three months by now, and he had made a point of keeping to himself for the majority of that time. Regardless, Bulma had enjoyed his stay. He was bratty, he was strict, and he was quick to raise his voice. But he was essentially harmless, and she _knew_ it. He spewed threats as if they were his native language, and told barbaric tales about past battles with pride. Yet Bulma had never actually felt _unsafe_ when she was near him. In fact, when he spoke these things, she couldn't help but think that Vegeta only detailed the brutality of it all in order to get his way. And how was she to know that the actions he boasted of were of his own will, and not by reign of Frieza? If this saiyan was so ruthless then why had he never even stepped on one of her toes during their spats? If he made no hesitation in " _inflicting a painful death_ " upon those who opposed him, why did he not do the same to her? Why was it that, when he wasn't bellowing orders or making violent threats, he almost seemed timid?

In fact, when she wasn't trying to establish boundaries and arguing with him, Bulma found his presence to be oddly _calming. She loved_ when they happened to have meals at the same time. She would eat her food silently, watching him from across the table as he coolly scowled at his plate. His chiseled features would flex when his expressions changed. There was a life behind those dark eyes of his. A soul that had seen and encountered more than she could even begin to fathom. A wise ego that seemed to be processing everything around him at an alarming rate.

He really was a _fascinating_ creature.

And, despite his temper, he had exhibited a scale of understanding on human interaction that not even Yamcha seemed to comprehend. Truth be told, Bulma found that she preferred spending time around Vegeta much more than she enjoyed being with Yamcha these days. There was much more depth in that saiyan's mind. And she was starting to really enjoy the wit that lingered behind even the most hostile of his remarks. And _Vegeta_ had been the one to point out that her tears were wasted when they were shed over the Yamcha, _hadn't he?_

' _No_ ', Bulma thought. There really was _no way_ that this Saiyan was anywhere _near_ as bad as everyone else had made it seem. He was misunderstood, perhaps, but he certainly wasn't _bad…_

The Bluehead was so consumed by her own thoughts, that she hadn't even noticed as Vegeta walked up to her. And she jumped when he spoke her name to get her attention.

"Woman."

Well, that really _wasn't_ her name, to be fair. But it seemed that this was the closest he would get. No matter how much she corrected him – which often times lead to a yelling match between the two – Vegeta was stubbornly set on referring to her with the **W** word. Bulma suspected that this was his subtle way of trying to establish dominance. But she refused to let it happen to easily. She _did_ have a name, and she was determined to get him to use it. Which one of them would win in the end, she wondered?

"My name is Bulma." She said, but she didn't push it this morning. Her recent thoughts left her without caring too much this time. She was actually secretly glad that he had walked in on her. She was no longer feeling quite so alone.

" _Whatever_. Prepare a meal for me. The blonde woman appears to be sleeping late this morning." Vegeta had his chest puffed out, looking away to avoid eye contact.

"That _blonde one_ you're speaking of is my _mother._ " Bulma replied. "And we're doing enough in letting you stay here. We feed you as a kind gesture – not because we _have to_. We don't owe you anything." She was slightly heated now, having recently developed a distate for the word ' _blonde_ '. Despite the offense she had taken, there was no fire in her tone. She was much too tired for _that._

"For allowing you to live, as I have, you _owe me everything_." Vegeta corrected. "Now cease your wallowing over _that flea_ and get me something to eat. That's an order."

Bulma was taken slightly aback by this observation. It had been _hours_ since she had stopped crying. Was it really _that_ obvious that she had been brooding over Yamcha? She stood from the table and went for the fridge, pulling out a large pot of leftover meat from the night before. Vegeta planted himself at the table, grumpily watching the Bluehead as she worked at the counter. She was moving _painfully slow_ , filling three plates with food before popping the first one into the microwave. Her ki signature had been exceptionally weak that morning – much more than he was accustomed to. It seemed that she was low on energy. Had she even slept _at all?_ She must have stayed up all night because of _that rat!_ Was she really _that_ much of a fool?

_Wait a minute – what did he even care?_

Bulma placed the three plates in front of the Saiyan before she returned to her own seat across from him. Vegeta immediately looked down at his plate, feeling her eyes on him as she sat. This wasn't new. Each time they were both sitting at the table he would _feel_ her Blue orbs focusing on him. Watching him. It seemed to be her favorite pass time during meals, and he thought it to be rather bizarre. _What was with her?_ It was bordering creepy. He focused on his food, careful not to look up at her. And when he finished his first plate he pushed it away, making room for the second one. The sensation of being watched so closely was starting to irritate him. "What is it?" He hissed, finally looking up to meet her eyes.

She had been resting her cheek in one of her palms, staring woefully at him as if lost in thought. And perhaps she really was. Her eyes were glazed over, her cheeks pale in color. She looked like one of those creepy glass dolls that the Blonde Woman kept in one of her rooms. _It was making the Prince of Saiyans quite uncomfortable._ The Bluehead _always_ seemed to make him uncomfortable. _Why was she always doing this to him?_

Her energy still felt quite low. Her eyelids looked heavy, starting to droop over her bloodshot eyes. As if lost in a dream. Perhaps she was dozing off with her eyes open? Nodding off…As she watched him eat? What? Whatever the hell it was that she was doing, it was a bit _more_ than disturbing - more than Vegeta would ever like to admit about that Blue scientist woman. "Are you going to eat?" He grumbled, narrowing his eyes. This seemed to take her by surprise, for she sat up straighter, a slight bit of light jolting back into her eyes. _Not that Vegeta had been_ _ **looking**_ _into them, of course…_

"You _want_ me to eat?" She asked, as if to confirm that she could understand basic English.

Vegeta furrowed his brows. "I _want_ to train – to improve my already perfect strength. I _want_ to obtain the ability to transition into a Super Saiyan, and I _want_ to destroy Kakarot the next time I see him. The only thing you need concern yourself with about what I _want_ is your duty to make that ship less faulty and design some adequate bots. If you have uncovered a way to acquire sufficient mental energy for those tasks, without sleeping _or_ consuming food, I'd like to know about it." Bulma stared blankly at him as he spoke. When Vegeta finished with his tirade she appeared to be trying to decide whether or not she should take offense from his words. Looking somewhat confused, she stood to fetch herself a plate of her own. Vegeta was just starting on his third plate when she slid back into the seat across from him. "It's stupid to do, anyway." He muttered, knowing she was now within earshot.

"What's stupid?" She replied. Clearly she was still out of it.

"Feigning over such a twit when your life depends on other things. Tell me, do all Earth beings lack any survival instincts whatsoever, or are you just a special case?"

Bulma bit her lip. It was odd, but she actually agreed with what he said. How could she argue with him, really? He had worded it differently, but there really _was_ more to life than Yamcha… So why was she so beside herself about him? She smiled softly, picking up her fork and starting to slowly pick at her plate. She was feeling slightly better as she swallowed down her first bite.

The two finished their meals in an awkward silence. Vegeta focused on each bite, trying to distract himself from the loopy girl sitting across from him. The sooner he finished this plate, the quicker he could get the hell out of there! He could feel her ki rising with each passing moment, but it still was quite dull compared to what he was used to.

_Not that he cared, or anything…_

But still, she was really freaking him out! He could feel that her eyes were planted on him again. From her earlier reaction, he could be sure that there was a smile spread across her face, too. He hated it when she smiled at him – _hated it!_ He loathed the way it made his chest turn. Pushing back his plate, Vegeta was happy to finally be done. He was about to stand up and throw himself for the door when Bulma spoke.

"Vegeta?" She said. Soft. Lethargic. Her voice was breathless and sad.

He looked up at her, his mouth pursed into a tight frown. Perhaps she was now well enough to update him on the status of the latest bot? _Who was he kidding –_ that was too much to hope for.

" _Thanks_." Her voice rang melancholy, yet she had that _damned_ smile on her face – again!

Gratitude? _For what?_ What the **hell** did that even _mean? Why was she looking at him like that?!_ Why were her eyes looking glossy once again? Shouldn't she be feeling better after eating? What the _hell_ was going on! Vegeta felt his tongue growing dry. Nausea was starting to brew in the pit of his stomach. She needed to stop looking at him like that – to cease with that _bizarre_ expression on her face. And he needed to get the hell out of there – before he lost his breakfast! Damn – why was his stomach curling so tightly? He hated it – he _**hated it! "**_ Okay." The Saiyan gulped. She was staring straight into his eyes, and he felt so ill that he could hardly find the strength to break his look away. Why couldn't she simply cower at his feet like everyone else did – to beg him for mercy? What was with this woman? Was she broken? Never before had he ever been on such edge because of a mere female!

"Last night Yamcha and I decided to take a break." She was explaining, even though Vegeta hadn't asked.

_Break…_ Evidently, this was another one of those Earth words that had several meanings depending on context. Vegeta took a few moments to consider what she said, and slowly he opened his mouth. "So… you… you and him have ruptured ties." It was a question, though it came out as a command.

"Yes. That means I'll have more time to spend on my projects now." She let out a deep sigh. And, _finally,_ she broke eye contact with him to look back down at her plate, prodding it with a fork thoughtfully.

"Okay." Vegeta said again. He took this as his opportunity to leave, and made no hesitation in rising from his seat. "I expect my new bot to be completed by tomorrow, then." With that, he ran for the door. He needed to get out of there. He _needed_ to get back into the ship! Still feeling ill, he needed to find a quiet place to calm his stomach. Why the hell did he feel so _amused_ at hearing this news about the two? Bulma was much too smart for that rodent – the Saiyan was surprised it had even taken her _this_ long to end things between them!

But... why did he even _care?_

What the hell was going on?!

' _No!'_ Vegeta thought, shaking his head as he entered the ship. He was going to have to increase gravity by double that morning. He'd have to train harder than ever before to get her off his mind. He didn't care about her! All he needed to concern himself with was training! He really didn't care what she did, or _who_ she did it with. She could do _whatever_ she wanted!

Just as long as it wasn't with Yamcha.

Just as long as it was with _anyone but him!_


	3. Bulma's Shock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put a lot of energy in to this chapter, and my hope is that you can feel it as you read. Have a great week!

She was sitting at the desk in her room. Six hours had passed since the meal she'd shared with Vegeta, and Bulma was now reviewing a report that her father had prepared. She had another cup of tea brewed and was raising it to her lips for a sip when ** _it_** happened. A rattle that was strong enough to knock her to the floor, her hot drink sloshing against her face and stinging the skin. Her computer monitor toppled over, barely missing her head as she screamed.

_An earthquake?_

_Now?_

She rolled over, scooting on her stomach to try and clear away from anything else that had the potential to fall on her petit frame. Breaths shallow, adrenaline making her ears ring, Bulma paused halfway across the room. Now that she thought about it, the house wasn't even swaying, as it should with seismic activity. Did that mean this wasn't an earthquake, after all?

…Then… what _was_ that?

Her eyes widened, reality dawning. Her ears weren't just ringing from her heart – they were recoiling from a loud noise! A blast!

… _An explosion?_

There was no need to investigate. If something had just exploded, there was only one thing it could be! She immediately ran for the stairs, only one thought on her mind. It felt like an eternity that she was rushing for the door, her body washing over with worry. Nothing could have prepared Bulma for the horror she felt when she made it outside, a glimpse of his lifeless face peering out from the rubble. The Bluehead was in such shock that she couldn't even hear herself screaming as she ran across the yard, dropping to her knees as she panted in distress. All she could do was think one word. _No._

' _No.'_ She thought, picking pieces from the debris and tossing them aside.

' _No._ ' She thought, catching a look of flesh on his shoulder that had been burned to a black leather.

' _No_.' She thought, struggling to remove a chunk of metal that had been laying on his chest, desperate to free his body from the debris. She knew she shouldn't touch someone who had been injured in a traumatic accident like this. There could be internal bleeding! There was risk of making things even worse!

_But what did any of that protocol matter when he was already dead?_

' _No!'_ She thought, feeling the tears finally catch up to her eyes as she pulled his head into her lap. ' _No…'_

She could feel hands on her shoulders, a voice instructing something. She shrugged them away, shaking her head. _Wasn't he supposed to be invincible?_ He was supposed to have outlived them all!

_How?_

She could feel a pair of arms wrapping under her own, pulling her up by her axillaries. She shook her head again, screaming incomprehensively as she tried to resist the hold. She needed more time with Vegeta. She needed to process the situation. Her struggles were in vain, as the person lifted her feet from the ground and began to pull her back. Bulma opened her eyes to watch Vegeta helplessly as his body fell from her lap. The way he seemed to roll back in slow motion, his head slapping into the Earth with a dull thud.

A _dead weight._

The Bluehead seemed to lose all capability to yell in that moment, her eyes widening as the firefighter continued to pull her farther away. All she could do was stare into Vegeta's dusty face, all color surrounding her seeming to turn to grey as her chest heaved.

_Shock_.

She hadn't even realized how much she had been looking forward to until it was suddenly ripped away. There was so much about him that she was yet to learn. So many stories she'd been planning to coax out of him. So many meals left to share. This was a man she had assumed would be around for a _long_ time. Three years wouldn't have even been enough – but at least she would have had _that!_ She didn't know what might have been in store from them, but Bulma was suddenly hit with the overwhelming feeling that she'd just lost a huge part of her own future.

A future she had unknowingly hoped _he_ would be in… for at _least_ three years…

' _No.'_ She thought again. This couldn't be over. Not so suddenly. Not like this. They were going to take him away to some medical facility! They'd destroy his body with an unnecessary autopsy. When they realized he wasn't human, they'd rip it up even more to perform experiments, and he'd end up in some type of textbook. " _ **No**_ _!"_ She let out another scream, throwing her arms out and waving kicks at the person who was carrying her. "Let me go! _Let me_ _ **go!**_ " Whoever was holding her was strong, but they were having trouble from the fight she was putting up. Only thinking to quickly remove her from the scene, the firefighter hadn't thought to restrict her limbs as he carried her away. "Let go of me! _This is my fucking house_ ** _!_** _"_ She screamed." _ **That was my fucking ship!**_ " Her elbow suddenly came into contact with his cheek, and as he recoiled from the pain she managed to break free from his hold. As soon as her feet touched the ground she was running for the rubble again. _Towards him_. She needed to protect him. To keep his body both dignified and safe.

_She would wish him back! She would find a way!_

"Stop it!" The firefighter was yelling.

She ignored him. Who was _he_ to tell her that? He didn't know _anything!_ She looked ahead to see several more emergency workers gathering around the remnants of the ship. They were ready to blockade her from him – from the man she was trying so hard to get. She glared, stopping in her tracks. "Don't you _dare_ touch him!" She barked.

"Bulma!" Dr. Briefs called, having finally arrived at the back door. He began to make his way across the yard, weaving through the personnel that were attempting to quarantine the scene. Understanding that he was the _true_ owner of the property, they all bowed their heads as he passed.

"Dad!" She cried, her face red with fury. She could hear the siren of an ambulance approaching from a few blocks away. " _You_ of all people should understand! _They can't take him_!"

"I know, I know." He replied, lowering his voice to prevent any of the workers from hearing. "I didn't call them, Dear. It must have been a neighbor…"

She wiped the tears from her face, turning to glare at the few houses adjacent to their property. She was about to scream a hysteric about how they should all mind their own business, when she felt her father's fingers clapping over her shoulder. " _Calm down_ , honey. Go inside! Try to relax. I'll take care of it. Everything will be alright."

She whipped around to face him, seeing the look in his eyes. He _meant_ it. It seemed that these people regarded his opinion more than hers, anyway. Perhaps he was right! She was growing claustrophobic with all of the personnel that were swarming them. She was going to end up hitting someone with a piece of metal debris if she stuck around for too much longer. "Alright! I'll go inside! Please, Dad! You can't let them! Don't let them _touch him!"_

.

Days.

It seemed like days had passed since returning to the house from the chaos outside. Bulma sat on the couch, staring at the fireplace and hugging her knees. She could hear yelling of officials outside, the loud crashes of moving rubble, the engines of waste trucks that were being filled. The cleanup crew were making good time with the destroyed ship, but it still wasn't fast enough.

_It felt like they were taking **days**._

There was a commotion going on upstairs, as well. Bulma listened to footsteps racing up and down the floor, the clicking of equipment. Dr. Plocks, the family's go-to practitioner, was upstairs at that very moment examining Vegeta's body. She could hear his muffled voice speaking with Dr. Briefs - most likely discussing how to handle his remains.

The truth was that Vegeta had no way of identification. Of _course_ he didn't – he wasn't even native to this planet! There was absolutely no way to prove that Vegeta had even existed! Legally, there was _no way_ they could claim his body! There had no means of proving that they had the right! Bulma clapped her face into her hands, feeling as if the weight of the world has been thrown on her back. Dr. Briefs had stuck by his promise. He'd used his wealth and legal threats to intimidate the ambulance from retrieving the body. _That_ had worked, but Dr. Plocks was another story altogether. _He_ wasn't afraid of the Briefs family. There was _no way_ he would simply shrug off the situation and leave a dead body in their possession – especially when they couldn't prove that they even _knew_ him! What would happen now? What kind of mess was this?

She could hear footsteps coming downstairs. They had obviously had reached an agreement. Now they were on their way to inform her. Bulma squeezed her eyes shut, still overwhelmed by how badly her heart was sinking into her chest. She still couldn't believe it – _she couldn't understand._ **He** wasn't supposed to be _gone… _He was supposed to be there… yelling empty threats and making child-like demands… How could he have been so stupid to get himself killed? He had told her he was strong! How could he have been such an_ _ **idiot**_ _to get himself killed like_ _ **this?**__

"Bulma, dear."

She looked up.

Sure enough, Dr. Plocks and her father were standing side by side, making their way into the room. The look on both of their faces was grim and empty, and she found that she couldn't predict what either one was going to say. There was no indication in their eyes. Just _disbelief._ Without speaking she stood, waiting anxiously to hear what they were going to announce. She knew Dr. Plocks was going to take him. It was too hopeful to think otherwise. The two men looked at each other, as if trying to decide who should speak. Finally Dr. Plocks cleared his throat, stepping forward. "Miss Briefs…" He said. He cleared his throat again, obviously searching for the right words.

_It was true._ They were going to take him away! Perform autopsies – destroy his body – send him on a world tour for students of medicine to examine. Put him in a museum. _Publish articles! And_ there was nothing she could do!

Bulma felt the tears in her eyes yet again. As if his death wasn't hard enough, she now suddenly felt guilty for the fate of his remains. She couldn't even protect them. Feeling helpless and ashamed, the Bluehead fell back into the couch, letting a sob out as she fell. "No!" She cried. "Please – _please!_ I'm begging you, don't!"

"Miss Briefs"

She shook her head. "You can't take him. I don't know what Dad told you, but _you just can't_!"

"Bulma, dear."

She was fighting to keep herself together, but the growing emptiness was becoming too much to bear. Even as she cried, she was shocked at her own reaction. She barely even knew him! How was it that she was _this_ torn up about him? She'd only met him a few months earlier! And, as she thought this, the dreadful feeling of grief managed to only become worse.

_She'd only been able to know him for a few months…_

" _Bulma!"_ A pair of hands were now on her shoulders, willing her to look up. Her father was standing over her, Dr. Plocks at his side. "Bulma, stop crying, dear."

She blinked. "Don't tell me to stop! You told me you'd take care of it! You told me you wouldn't let anyone touch him! You **promised**!"

Dr. Plocks intervened now, stepping in for the scientist who still appeared to be in shock, himself. "Miss Briefs, he isn't going anywhere. There's isn't any dead body to remove."

_What?_ She choked, the words not registering in her mind. What in the world did he mean by _that_?

"He's… It… it's very faint, but he has a heart rate. The machines could not even detect it. It wasn't until I took a cell sample for the microscope and saw that the tissue is living. We ran a few tests, and… well - there's _brain activity_. There's no trace of oxygen loss _at all… I just don't understand… It... It isn't_ _ **possible**_ _!_ "

She blinked again, dropping her hands from her face and staring at the two doctors with her mouth hanging open. She'd just been so distraught a moment ago, and now she was hesitant to get excited. Terrified that she had misunderstood, she grabbed the cloth of her pants. "He's… he's _alive?_ "

"I…" Dr. Plocks nodded, clearing his throat again. _This seemed to be a nervous habit of his._ "To be quite honest, I don't really understand it myself. He… He _shouldn't_ be…" He didn't need to say anything more. As soon as he confirmed it, there was no doubt in Bulma's mind that it was true. It _did_ make sense! It _was_ possible! Vegeta was a _Saiyan_ , after all! His entire life revolved around performing the _impossible!_ Dr. Plocks didn't _need_ to understand! It wasn't his business to know! She jumped from the couch, pushing both men back as she ran for the stairs. She needed to see it for herself. She needed to hear his voice!

"Bulma, dear…" Dr. Briefs tried, but he knew it was to no use. His daughter _never_ listened – especially not when she was this emotional. She'd keep going until she reached the room and came to her own conclusion. All the two men could do was follow in her trail, knowing exactly what she would see when she made it upstairs. And they found her, standing in the doorway of his room, looking much less enthusiastic than she had a few minutes earlier. She turned when she heard them coming, her eyes exhibiting the disappointment that they both had predicted. "He's… not… awake…" She muttered.

"No." Dr. Plocks clapped a hand on her shoulder. "He's alive, but barely. He isn't even stable enough to transport to a hospital. We're going to have to keep him here, on life support."

Wide eyed and dispirited, Bulma's mouth dropped open again. "But he'll be okay, won't he? He just needs to rest, right?"

"I'm so sorry, Bulma. As a physician, I don't like to give any false hope." Dr. Plocks shook his head mournfully. The Bluehead was about to say something back when he leaned in to whisper in her ear. " _That being said, I didn't think he'd be alive at_ _ **all**_ _, and he sure proved me wrong…_ "

"Of course!" She replied, determination on to her face. "I know he'll get better. I'm going to make sure of it! I won't leave his side at all until he wakes up!"

.

And she did stay by him. She didn't know what else there was to do – Dr. Plocks had hooked him to an IV for nutrition, a mask on his face to regulate his breathing, a band around his arm to monitor his heart. But she stayed by his side, checking his temperature, fluffing his pillows, making sure his bedding was still warm. She knew one thing for sure, and that was that he _would_ recover. If there was even a drip of life left in him, he'd come around and end up stronger than ever before! And she was going to do all in her power to help make sure of that.

What if his heart rate started slipping in the middle of the night? She just _had_ to be there in case he needed emergency CPR!

What if his skin started to look blue, and his temperature began to drop? She needed to be there to make sure his blankets were heated and warm!

Keeping an eye on him wasn't exactly easy. Days passed without a single movement on his part, and the hours dragged by incredibly slow. She hardly slept at night, terrified at the idea of waking up to find that something had gone wrong while she'd been unavailable to help.

…

_Darkness._

This was nothing new.

He'd encountered this before. Without even a simple dream to occupy his mind, Vegeta was engulfed by absolute _black._ He was used to this. How many times had he been here? The portal between life and death, a vacuum that attempted to suck him in. But he resisted. He _always_ had resisted. Only once had that suction been successful at pulling him through, a misty arm that wrapped its fist around his lungs and dragged him to his eternal slumber. But he had managed to escape. He'd been wished back. And he wasn't going to let it win again. _Not now._

Shades of purple were hueing under his eyelids. The color was so faint that he could _feel_ it more than he could _see it_ , and it rippled across his skin like unkept water. The color radiated both heat and frost, shifting in intensity as if beckoning the prince to hell. They seemed to be there to assist the suction of the portal, attempting to distract him so his soul could be extracted away. He had experienced this feeling many times before. The annoying little bugs.

' _Not now._ ' He thought, his voice booming in his head as if he were yelling. Somehow, through the darkness, he could feel something faint. As if it were muffled, worlds away, there was a steady energy nagging at the back of his mind. Waiting for him to find a way to seal the darkness away and go back into the light.

He could feel _her._

_Her aura_.

What was she doing here? Why was _she_ in this dimension? This was something new. Her energy - so warm and pleading, unwavering and focused. Calling to him, as if to guide him the right way. As if urging him to escape the darkness. Coaxing him away from this cold.

How long he spent in this world was always unknown to him. Regardless of how much time passed in the land of the living, this place always felt the same. There'd been times that he had risen from this place to find that it had only been a few hours, and others when he awoke to discover it had been weeks.

It was because of this that he wasn't sure how much time had passed when he began to feel the _light_ once again. Dizzy. Bright. Never before had it been this suffocating to return to. When he was ready to reunite with the land of the living, he was usually awake in an instant, ready to break free of his regeneration tank and find a large meal to make up for. This time it was a haze. His head heavy, a searing pain in his cerebrum. It seemed to take all of the strength he could manage just to open his eyes a few slits, the image of the room taking even longer to focus in his brain.

_He was in her room?_

It was a blur, but he was sure he could make out her form sitting at the desk beside him. Her face in her hands, slumped over as if asleep. _This_ certainly wasn't a regeneration tank!

_But, of course it wasn't_ …

He was used to risking his body during training, knowing fully well that a tank would be readily available to restore him back to health no matter how injured he became. But he'd known better – he was fully aware that Earth didn't have such a thing! But after years of recovering in regeneration tanks, it was easy to forget when he was in the middle of an extensive training session. His cockiness had gotten the better of him, and this time he really _could_ have ended up dead..

How could he have been so _stupid?_

He felt like absolute hell, eyelids convulsing as he struggled to push himself upright. His vision was fading again, but he fought to hang on.

"Vegeta," He heard her voice, though it was amazing how it sounded as if she were speaking through a tube. He managed to prop one eye back open, struggling just to look at her. His body was ringing with a pain that rarely effected him in this way, his skin flaring as he attempted to grab the blanket. "Wo…man." He choked, taking in a deep breath as he turned her way. His voice was muffled by the breathing mask, but she made out his words with clarity nonetheless. Bulma was right beside him now, and he felt as a damp cloth was placed on his forehead. She had a forced smile on her face, though she wasn't entirely sure if he could see it, for his eyes closed as soon as the towel came into contact with his skin. "Don't move… You're still injured." She breathed, her lower lip quivering to see such strain in his brows. He was in pain…

"Are you…" He choked out, teeth gritting. "... _crying…"_

"Sshh," Bulma sniffled, pulling the blanket up to cover his body better. "Let's just say… I think I found something that is _worth_ my tears..." She wasn't sure if he actually heard it, for in that moment his breathing deepened, the fight leaving his face. His hand grew limp, and she knew that he had fallen asleep once again. " _Just rest_ ," She whispered, a warmth filling her core as she sat back to look at him. He was definitely out again, but the fact that he'd come back at all was more than enough confirmation for her worrying eyes.

_Vegeta wasn't going anywhere_.

She was going to get to have her time with him, after all. He'd be there for her to assist in his training, to participate in witty arguments, to eat her mother's warm meals, to provide unintentional comfort with his quiet aura, and to offer her his backhanded advice. He was such a mysterious specimen, so closed off and hardened, yet he was soft when he least expected it.

He was just _misunderstood..._

She found herself sliding down into her own seat, relief inviting the exhaustion to take over. He was alive, and she was so glad to have seen that fight in his eyes. She still couldn't put her finger on _what_ it was exactly, or _how_ he'd be involved in it, but she knew that he was surely going to be a part of her future. For _at least_ the next three years…


	4. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the feedback. There will only be one more chapter after this. I'd like to point out that this story is part one of a trilogy. "Anyone But Him" has been means of developing chemistry between the two characters to bridge into part two. Inspired by the words Future Trunks used to describe his parents' relationship to Goku, the next part of the trilogy will be a novel-length story that digs deeper into what happened between Bulma and Vegeta during his three years of training. Was their relationship really as tumultuous as Trunks described? What could they possibly have had to fight about?

For only a few minutes Vegeta had been fully awake, and although he was conscious he was still weak. There was a tube leading into his right arm, and he felt like such crap that it was hard to tell whether it was draining the life from him or supplying it instead. He was fully aware of the human around him, but each time he attempted to express to her his objection to this treatment he would be struck with the overwhelming threat of passing out. A mask was on his face to supply oxygen, but even with that it was too much for him to try and speak with. The Blueheaded Woman that he felt so uncomfortable about was standing beside his bed now, her back turned to him and offering _too_ good of a view of her rear. Why did she have to dress in such a constricting way? It showed more than he needed to see! He clamped his eyes shut to avoid looking at _it_ , eyebrows straining as he tried to muster the energy it would take to request the tube be removed from his arm. She was fiddling with something that he hadn't been able to make out before closing his eyes, but he could hear the sound of ruffling paper as she worked beside him.

It was then that an abrupt ringing noise ignited, which was enough to make the saiyan open his eyes once again. He turned his head to see Bulma as she walked across the room. The monitor of the telephone was placed at an angle where Vegeta couldn't see the screen, but he was able to make out her reaction with the profile of her face. She didn't seem to be pleased about whoever was calling. He watched as the Bluehead took in a deep breath, eying the telephone machine suspiciously before finally accepting the call. Instead of utilizing the speakers that were built in to the phone Bulma pulled a headpiece over her ears, which Vegeta suspected was an act to prevent him from hearing the full conversation. The saiyan turned away with disinterest, not caring to bother himself with matters of a race so inferior to his own. He glared up at the ceiling, trying to block out the sound of her voice as she greeted the caller. She spoke in a tone that didn't sound too happy, though, and with nothing else to place his focus on the saiyan couldn't help but to listen to what was being said.

"Now isn't a good time." Bulma was saying curtly. She paused, obviously listening as the person on the other end of the line offered their reply. After a few moments she spoke again, sounding somewhat more disturbed than she had originally. "No. I don't want that. I'm busy right now."

' _Pathetic Earth beings and their miniscule problems.'_ Vegeta thought, glaring up at the ceiling, wishing he had a way to block off his ears to keep from having to hear any more than he already had. That Woman was so hot-headed that there was no telling what type of dispute she was having with the person who had called, and judging by her taste in arguments it most likely could have been over something so petty that there was no point to it at all.

"Yamcha, I said _no."_

Well, _that_ did it. The saiyan would have growled if he could muster such an act, instead forced to continue staring at the ceiling as he lay in this motionless coffin built of his own flesh. What had he done to fall under such a fate as to helplessly listen to the Woman blabbering with such a useless cow by the likes of Yamcha? Even if she was being feisty during their exchange of words, it was _still_ Yamcha. Why should _Vegeta_ have to suffer through it all?!

"I _told_ you I don't want you coming here! If you even try I'll be ready! I won't _need_ any authorities to send you away, I'll kick you so hard you'll fly all the way to Namek, myself!" And with that Bulma angrily ended the call, slamming her headset down with a harsh breath and turning away from the phone. "Hmph!" She creaked, stepping back from the telephone system and crossing her arms. She stood in silence, not moving or speaking a word. The room remained quiet for so long that Vegeta found himself growing curious, even as he told himself it was all below him. The saiyan turned his head to look over at the Woman, who was standing beside the phone with her face in her hands. With the rage that was no doubt brewing inside after that call, it seemed that she was now trying to get a grip on her own anger before she did something drastic. And then, out of nowhere, she let out a deep breath that she must have been holding in, and she brought her hands down, slowly opening her eyes.

This was the first time he was looking at her face since awakening, and the saiyan was struck with the subtle memory of her crying as she placed some type of cloth over his forehead. It was so faint that he almost doubted it was real, but he couldn't imagine where such a vision would have come from if he hadn't seen it himself. His eyes widened to have the unexpected flashback, and it was then that Bulma seemed to notice he was awake for the first time.

She'd been so conflicted with her own thoughts that it took a moment to register he was looking at her. _Awake._ With _open eyes… staring._ Bulma, still incensed by the frustrating phone call she'd just received, stared back as she realized he probably had heard the entire thing. He wasn't moving, nor speaking, and she wondered if he was perhaps still too weak to do such a thing. The last time he'd woken up and tried to talk his body hadn't been able to take it. "Hello." She said slowly, trying to be sure that her voice remained calm despite the hostility she felt towards that _bastard scar-faced_ Z-Fighter who'd had the _nerve_ to bother her just moments before. When Vegeta did not reply, Bulma offered a smile. "Are you able to speak?"

He thought about replying, but as his mind told his body to open its mouth he felt a tension in his brain, his vision blurring threateningly. So, instead, he slightly shook his head – a gesture that was proving to be a challenge enough - providing the Woman with a visual answer.

"Right." Bulma breathed, clapping her hands to her sides awkwardly. "I thought as much." She walked to the desk near his bed then, pulling out a chair so she could take a seat beside him. "You still have a lot of recovering to do." She explained, her voice coming out in gasps as she was obviously flustered. There was a wide smile on her face nevertheless, and she looked into Vegeta's eyes as if she'd just uncovered some large treasure that would forever change her life. _He didn't like it,_ and in that moment if he could have shifted away to add distance between the two he would have.

"I just-" Bulma breathed. "Sorry - I'm just _so glad_ you're awake." She looked down at her lap and shook her head, that _smile_ still on her face.

' _What the hell is she doing?'_ Vegeta thought, biting at the inside of his cheek.

"Anyway, I suppose I have a few things I can tell you – if you'd like." She picked her head up to look at Vegeta again, whom had remained eying the Woman with subtle curiosity. He did not gesture his head to indicate _'no_ ' like he had done to her last question, so Bulma took it as the encouragement she needed to continue. "Well, if _I_ had just woken up from a coma, I'd have a few questions – I think." She explained, placing a thoughtful finger to her chin as she looked up at the ceiling. "First of all, I think you'd like to know how long you've been out for. The accident happened nearly two weeks ago."

_Two weeks?_

The heart monitor that was hooked to the saiyan began to beep in a more quickened pace. Bulma's eyes widened with a jump. "No, no! Don't worry! It's not that bad!" She said, putting an assuring arm on the saiyan's chest. Instead of comforting him, this only seemed to make things worse, for the heart rate monitor began to beep even faster - at such a rapid speed that the sounds nearly blended into a continuous scream, and the Bluehead quickly whipped her hand away to try and correct it. As soon as she did so the machine began to calm, and Bulma sat back in her chair with a gasp. "The second thing I think you'd want to know is the ship's condition!" She sputtered, hoping that perhaps this might calm him down. "We've already started rebuilding it. It should be good to go as soon as you're finished recovering!"

_This –_ although Vegeta was pissed at the prospect of losing two _entire_ weeks of progress ( _and counting) –_ this bit of news was enough to lessen his temper. At least he'd be able to get _right back_ into his routine as soon as he was able to move his legs! At least he had _that!_ The heart rate monitor began to return back to a normal pace, and Bulma let out a sigh of relief. "Sorry, didn't mean to stress you… But it couldn't be helped." She shrugged. "I figured you'd want to know."

This was true. Although he wasn't happy to hear it, Vegeta was glad – and perhaps even a bit impressed - that she had enough intuition to tell him. He was going to find out sooner or later anyway, and because she’d had enough foresight to see he would want to know, he wouldn't have to be trapped with his own curiosity until he gained the capability to ask.

"You were in really bad shape, you know! Wanna see?"

_Did he want to see?_ It made his eyelid quiver to do such a thing, but Vegeta managed to raise both of his eyebrows with intrigue. Bulma let out a small giggle to see it, and she jumped to fetch something from the other side of the room. "Here!" She said, holding a mirror above Vegeta's head so he could eye his reflection. "Just _look_ at you! No wonder you were out for so long, _huh?"_

In the mirror he could see flesh that had been burnt black and dark bruises running along his temples. His arms sported patches that revealed raw flesh, some of which had seemed to have been bandaged up, but some were still exposed. " _Those spots weren't as deep._ " Bulma offered, as if she could sense his question, trailing a light fingertip along the side of his arm and making his stomach clench. "Sometimes it's good for the wound to be exposed to oxygen in order to heal, so I've been trying to switch them out every couple of days…"

_She'd done this_?

Vegeta looked at the tube that was inserted into the underside of his elbow. The scar across his lip. The gash covering his chest. She'd been tending to him when he'd been in a condition like _this_? Once again the image of her crying beside his bed flashed the saiyan's mind, and he looked away from the mirror as if this would block it away.

_Why? Why was she doing this?_

"Yeah, I told you it's pretty bad, huh?" Bulma said, pulling the mirror down and returning it to where she'd gotten it from. "If you're awake now, I imagine you'll be able to talk before too long. Once you can speak I'll be able to give you real food, and I'm sure that will help you to recover even more quickly."

Once again the saiyan found himself impressed with her foresight. She understood that whatever the hell it was that the IV was sourcing into his body wouldn't be good enough for his saiyan anatomy. She knew he needed _real_ food – and lots of it! Eager with the thought of eating a large meal and determined to get out of bed, Vegeta decided he needed to speak. He needed to demand that she feed him, and he also needed to tell her to stop looking at him like _that!_ She saw the look on his face. His eyebrows furrowing as he attempted to lift his head. "Vegeta, no. You're still too weak!" She hissed, but it seemed to fall upon deaf ears. Vegeta's teeth were clenched, color going to his cheeks as he struggled with the blackness that was threatening his mind. He needed to overcome this weakness and speak to her without passing out! He needed to be able to _eat_ , damnit!

" _Stop!_ " Bulma gasped, horrified at the pain she saw in his face. "Just rest! You'll be better in _no time!_ Just give yourself a few hours!"

But this wasn't good enough for him. He needed food **now** _. 'Open your mouth and say something, you useless harpy.'_ He told himself, and he tried. The heart rate monitor was blaring in his ears once again, and he could hear a low growl eliciting from his throat as he closed his eyes. He could feel her near him, his breaths shallow with frustration. He heard her voice saying something, though he couldn't make out what. The tension suddenly lifted from the saiyan's muscles, and Vegeta passed out once again.

.

"What a stubborn _jerk_ he is!" Bulma hissed as she dropped a slab of meat on the stove. "I work my arse off to make sure he'll be okay, and then he goes and willingly does something like _that!_ " She salted the meat, flipping it with her spatula and grabbing for a plate. Mrs. Briefs stood beside her, working over a pan filled with shredded chicken instead of beef, cooking it with just as much speed as her daughter. "Well, you know how that boy is!" The blonde-woman said cheerfully. "As least he's waking up now, right?"

"Yeah, but still!" Bulma snapped, dropping the meat on her plate and grabbing utensils so that she could cut it into small pieces. "He got himself into this mess with his own recklessness, and he's not doing himself _any_ good when he keeps straining his body before it's ready! The last time he woke up he tried to jump out of bed, and he could have given himself a concussion!"

Mrs. Briefs was dropping the cooked chicken into a pile of vegetables that had already been set in the blender. Bulma followed suit, placing the chopped meat into the blender and slapping a lid on top of it. She pressed a button to turn it on, and watched as the food inside mixed into a dark brown puree that made her want to gag just in imagining its texture. This was the _fifth_ time that Vegeta had woken up, and this time he'd actually managed to sit up in bed and gasp about wanting food without falling over in unconsciousness. The fact that he was able to form words and speak to her made Bulma confident enough that he'd be able to swallow down food without choking, but still. He'd put his body through an unnecessary hell in the process. And it wasn't just his stubbornness that bothered her - she was also peeved by his attitude. There had been no _'thank you'_ or acknowledgment of the stress she'd put herself through in order to make sure he was okay. He'd simply sat up, balled his hands into fists, and spat " **Woman! _Get downstairs and bring me a meal! Now!_** _"_

Muttering under her breath, Bulma stuck a straw into the meat slushie she'd devised and began to make her way upstairs. Inside the room sat Vegeta, an impatient scowl planted on his face as he watched her enter with the drink. He'd managed to bark an order at her a few moments earlier, but it had taken enough energy as it was to do just _that,_ and he was still warding off how light-headed it consequently made him. "Hmph!" Bulma tossed her hair to make sure her feelings were known, sitting down beside Vegeta and handing the drink to him.

Vegeta looked down at the drink, and then back up at the Woman. He raised an eyebrow as if to ask 'what is _this?'_ , for this meal certainly was not up to par with what he'd come to expect from the household. The Bluehead scowled back. "It's not like you can chew a lot, anyway! Just drink it!"

The saiyan grunted, lifting his heavy arms to grab the glass from her, popping the straw into his mouth. The concoction had a bizarre taste, but he could recognize that there was meat, and he sipped it down as quickly as he could with one go. He sat back, feeling the tightening in his stomach as it filled with food for the first time in weeks, a warmth running down his spine. Bulma took the empty glass back from him, placing it down on his desk and sitting back in her chair to give him a look-over. It seemed that Vegeta was so relieved by the nutrition that he was nearly falling asleep _yet again_ , and Bulma let out another _"hmph!"_ before crossing her arms. The drowsy saiyan turned to look at her, and this time he finally spoke. "What is it?" He grunted, hoping she wouldn't try to put her _hand_ on his _chest_ again.

"You know, I've put a lot of effort into making sure you recover okay!" Bulma puffed, turning up her nose.

"I didn't _ask_ you to do that." Vegeta replied, thinking back on the image of her crying face _once again._ Why _did_ she seem to care so much about his wellbeing? He didn't like the strange sensation it gave him - and why was she getting mad at him _now?_ It was none of her business anyway! His words certainly weren't what Bulma had wanted to hear. She let out a squeak, her posture straightening as air filled her cheeks. "I _know_ you didn't – and that's because you were on the brink of death! And you have nothing to say to me after everything I've done for you? Nothing at all?!"

" _Why_ did you do it?" Vegeta shot back. It was a challenge, because he knew she wouldn't be able to answer him. He hated seeing the gleam in her eyes when she looked at him, and even as she lectured him in that moment her face still had _a look._ He wasn't ignorant to her body language – the way she bumped shoulders with him before his accident, or the way she would touch him while he was bedridden. She had tried to disguise running a finger down his arm as a way to try and comfort his pain, but he knew enough to see that there was more to it than just _that._ She was trying to get his attention, to make sure she was on his mind, and he _hated_ how much it seemed to be working. Against his will. That _damned_ Earth Woman. "Well?" He smirked, narrowing his eyes. He could feel his muscles quivering of energy with each passing second that the food in his stomach was digested, and it would only be a matter of time before he'd be able to finally stand…

"I…" Bulma's eyes widened, blindsided by the question. She hadn't really thought about it, herself. She didn't know why she had put herself through so much stress while he was hurt, but she had taken care of him as best as she could. There was no reasoning in her mind – it was something she'd simply been compelled to do – and she'd just _done it_.

"Right." Vegeta grunted, breaking eye contact with the woman and nodding as he settled back into the bed. "That's what I thought."

_Had she just been mocked?_ Why the hell did he look so smug? Feeling indignant, Bulma sucked her cheeks in and rose from the chair. "You're such a jerk!" She squeaked, balling her petite hands into fists as she shook them at him. The saiyan rolled his eyes. "So I've heard. You aren't the first person to make this observation, Woman. Don't flatter yourself."

"Why, you… you!" The Bluehead breathed. "This is the thanks I get for making sure you didn't _die_?! _You're_ the one who was enough of an idiot to land yourself in this bed in the first place!" And with that she spun on her heel, marching for the door before she lost control and said anything else. The saiyan listened to her leave, sinking lower into his bed. He had the urge to yell something back, but quickly thought against it. She'd only take it as encouragement to continue this conversation, and all he wanted was to be left alone.

She didn't know _anything_ about him, and it was clear in the way she looked at him that she expected much more than he cared to ever give. It wasn't his fault that she'd created some fantasy about his personality in her head! He was nothing more than a cold-hearted death machine that created destruction in any path he took - and the sooner she realized that, the better! She needed to focus on repairing the ship, and she especially needed to find someone else to ogle over. Anyone would be better than Vegeta. He didn't want that type of attention at all! She needed to focus on _anyone_ else!

_Anyone but him!_


	5. Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the last chapter of this story. It's been fun! I hope you enjoy.

* * *

It was only the following morning that Vegeta woke feeling invigorated enough to jump out of bed, ripping the tubes and wires off as he went. The heart monitor fell into a flatline of continuous screeching, which brought Bulma flying through the door in only a few seconds' time. "Vegeta!" She gasped, watching in horror as he punched the heart rate machine to shut it up. At hearing his name he swung around, looking at if he were about the blast whoever had just yelled at him. However, as he locked eyes with the Bluehead's, his temper seemed to be put on hold. He paused in mid-stride, his dark eyes piercing into her light blue orbs, and Bulma could swear she saw the anger on his face soften for a brief moment. He stared, looking as if he were fighting to compose himself, his olive cheeks paling with his frozen pose. And, just when the Bluehead thought he would finally say something, the saiyan suddenly broke into a dash, running past her as he made for to door.

"Vegeta!" Bulma called, her eyes following him as he went. She listened to his determined feet as they scurried downstairs, knowing fully well what he was off to do. Instead of going after him she made her way to the far end of the room, peering out the window that overlooked the majority of her backyard. She watched as Vegeta ran into the grass below, coming to an abrupt stop when he didn't find what it was he was looking for. Seeing this as her opportunity, Bulma swung the window open and yelled out to the Saiyan below. " _What are you doing?!_ " She called, slamming her hands down on the window sill.

This got Vegeta's attention, for he flew straight up in the air, stopping at her window to hover at face level. "Woman!" He barked, no longer holding back his temper. "Where's my ship!"

"It's down in the lab! Where do you _think_ it is!" Bulma snapped back, leaning out as she scowled.

"You told me it would be ready when I recovered!"

"That's right, it'll be ready _when you're recovered_!" He was starting to distance himself, so Bulma leaned out the window further still. "It's not ready yet, and you still need to rest, Vegeta! What do you think you're doing, destroying the medical equipment like that!?"

"What I do is none of your concern, Woman!" The enraged saiyan growled, rearing his teeth. "Get yourself in the lab and finish my ship at once! The time I've lost already is unacceptable! I won't be held back any more!" It was at this that Vegeta spun and began to fly away, leaving Bulma to helplessly watch as her heart pounded. "Hey!" She screamed, but he didn't acknowledge her shouts. "You can't talk to me like that!" The Bluehead was so beside herself at Vegeta's audacity that she pushed herself out even further, hoping her voice would project far enough to get his attention. In her fury she made the mistake of moving too quick, though, and Bulma let out a yip as she suddenly lost her balance and turned head first, her feet losing touch with the floor.

How stupid she'd been! She'd let herself get so carried away with her emotion that she'd managed to topple out her own second-story window! Bulma closed her eyes as she screamed, the wind hitting her face as she went, somehow feeling as if everything was moving in slow motion. ' _I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't been so mad!'_ She thought bitterly. It wouldn't have happened if that prince-of-all- _Jerks_ hadn't continued to talk down to her like a servant - despite _all_ of the effort she'd put into making sure he'd healed from his accident! Did he care at all? Enough to start showing her a little bit of respect? No – _of course_ not! He didn't even care enough about _himself_ to make sure he'd recuperated enough before flying out of bed! And now she was going to plummet to the ground, to either die or break every bone in her body, all because of _him!_ "You _bastard!_ " She screamed, too angry about her fate to even be scared. He might have been ignoring her calls, but she knew he could hear them, and she was going to make sure she spoke her mind with her last words. " _ **How dare you talk to me like-!**_ "

And, before she could finish her final thought, she landed on something with an " _oomf!_ ". Before the Bluehead even understood what had happened, her arms were instinctively wrapping around his neck. Even as she held him her mind hadn't quite registered the situation, and slowly she opened her eyes to see two dark irises glaring back. A lump formed in her lungs, her breath suddenly catching in her throat. This wasn't the first time that someone had saved her from falling to painful end, and it certainly wasn't the first time she was clinging to a man who was hovering in mid-air as he flew the both of them. However, she had never expected such a thing to happen with… well, _Him._ She'd been carried around as Goku, Yamcha, or even Krillin had flown her to one destination or another. But never before had she felt such _warm_ arms, their reluctant grip around her waist so effortlessly confident. Bulma studied his chiseled face as heat ran to her cheeks, finding herself to be at a complete loss of words.

"What's this about a bastard?" Vegeta scoffered as he broke eye contact, lowing the two back to the ground. When his feet touched the Earth's soil he let go of her in a manner that was certainly not _gentle_ – in fact, he dropped her.

"Hey!" She barked with a yelp as her body crashed into the grass. She jumped back on her feet, furiously rubbing her arm for effect.

"Don't complain. Compared to how you would have landed if I hadn't caught you, _that_ was _**nothing**_." The saiyan scowled. "And _don't_ get any ideas, Woman. I only saved you to ensure that my ship is repaired in good time." With that, Vegeta turned and began to march away. "I'm going to train in the woods. I'll be checking up on your progress shortly. Get to work. Now!"

.

"Jerk! Stupid, arrogant, self-centered, intolerable, pompous, spoiled, miserable, thankless _jerk!_ " A week had passed, and Bulma was sitting at the desk in her father's basement lab. She was biting her lip as she tinkered with a memory chip for the ship's computer system. This was something she'd had trouble with the last time she'd helped her father build the ship, and the Bluehead was furious that she was having to suffer through such a task all over again. It wasn't that she didn't know _what_ to do, but the logistics were so complex that it required absolute concentration to not mess the entire motherboard up, and she had far too much on her mind to concentrate.

It didn't help matters that the phone was ringing, and she knew exactly _who_ was on the other end of the line. Yamcha had been relentlessly calling her for weeks, and he didn't seem willing to stop any time soon. His behavior was typical – this wasn't the _first_ break that the couple had taken – but it'd certainly been one of their longest in quite some time. It had been nearly a month since the two had decided to call it quits, and it seemed that the Z-Fighter was starting to get rather antsy about it. His desperation didn't work to make Bulma feel guilty, despite his efforts. _He deserved to be insecure._ With another curse about the egomaniac saiyan that was currently doing pushups in the other room, Bulma slammed her screwdriver down on the desk and picked up the receiver of the phone. "What!" She barked. "What – what! What is it?! I'm busy, and you know it!"

"Hey!" The voice on the other end replied, sounding a bit too offended for her taste. Her mood should have been no surprise to the Z-Fighter. What had he been expecting when he insisted on being so intrusive? "If you have something to say, just tell me." She hissed. "You _know_ I've got a lot going on, and you're _choosing_ to harass me! What is so _damned_ important that it can't wait!"

"Look, B. Can't I just come by? We need to talk about this in person. This has been going on for too long."

"There's _nothing_ to talk about!" Bulma snapped. " _You're_ the one who never shuts up about how much I _suffocate_ you and make you feel caged! So, why don't you give that _blondie_ a call, and leave _me_ alone!" With that she slammed the phone back down on its base, ending the conversation with a shrill curse that she hoped would leave Yamcha's ears ringing for hours.

Perhaps she had allowed herself to yell a little _too_ loud. Bulma cringed as the basement door suddenly slammed open. " _Woman!"_ She spun around in her seat to see the spiky-haired saiyan making his way downstairs. "Are you done with my ship yet!" This had become rather _normal_ for Vegeta. It seemed that every time Bulma would answer the phone and get into a shouting match with Yamcha, the irritable saiyan would suddenly appear and demand to know the progress of his _damned_ space ship. "Oh, be quiet!" She replied, turning back to her desk and waving a hand over her shoulder. "You _know_ I'm doing it as fast as I can. Give me until the end of the week."

"Unacceptable! I'd be training in it _right now_ if you didn't spend so much time having vapid conversations with that swine!"

That was it. She'd had enough of him barking at her like this. He'd certainly been known to speak to her in a harsh manner. But ever since he'd woken up from his coma after the explosion, his attitude had been excessively bad. Bulma slammed her hands down on the desk, pushing herself up from her chair. "That _swine_ has a name!" She barked, putting as much authority into her voice as she could muster. "And my social interactions are _none_ of your business!"

"When your behavior impedes your productivity, it _is_ my business." He growled back. Truth be told, he was taken by surprise to see how aggressively she was suddenly defending the scar-faced vermin. Hadn't she just finished yelling at him? What was _with_ her?

"You'll get your ship when it's ready. Maybe if _you_ stopped coming in here every hour to yell at me about my progress, I'd be finished by now!" The Bluehead raised a finger to point it at the saiyan as she snarled. "Now get out of my lab and let me work! And don't you _ever_ try to tell me what I can and _can not_ do again!"

It was hard not to lash back at someone when they spoke to the _Prince_ of all saiyans in such a way. Gritting his teeth, Vegeta turned, thinking that if it had been _anyone else_ who had been talking to him like that, they'd be dead by now. The saiyan made his way back up the stairs to continue with his training regimen, cursing under his breath as he went. He could hear Bulma let out an obscenity of her own as she dropped back into her chair, could hear the sound of something smashing as she presumably threw it across the room. Vegeta couldn't help but think that he might have been intimidated by her if he was one of the males that came from this weak planet. She certainly knew how to make herself seem several centimeters taller when she was mad – that was for sure!

.

It was only the following night when Vegeta stepped out of the shower, still running a towel through his spiky hair, when he heard a voice that was so irritating that he instantly fell into a rage. But was it really true? _Why_ would _**he**_ be here? Clad with only a towel wrapped around his waist, Vegeta stepped out into the hallway and began a march for his room. He passed the open door of Bulma's on his way, glancing inside to see none other than the fiend himself – Yamcha – sitting on her bed. The two men locked eyes with one another, and the saiyan could tell by the flair in Yamcha's eyes that the Z-Fighter was none-too-pleased to be seeing him, either. Vegeta stopped in his tracks, looking into the room as he held the towel protectively, lest it suddenly decide to fall to the floor and expose himself for the scoundrel to see.

Bulma was standing on the other end of the room with her arms crossed, and she seemed surprised when she looked up to see Vegeta in her doorway. There was a scowl pursed across her lips, but for a moment it seemed to fade when her eyes found a particular spot on the saiyan's chest. This act of blatant attraction from the earth Woman was not anything new. She'd been doing it a lot lately - although it had become less frequent since Vegeta had begun to make it a point in being a complete jackass towards her. The look she had in her eyes now, though, was enough to make him wish he'd never even stepped foot outside the bathroom at all. All his hard work at turning her away seemed to be undone in just that quick second! The saiyan quickly looked away from the Bluehead, landing a strict glare on Yamcha before turning and continuing down the hall.

"That _monster_ is still staying here?" Yamcha growled once Vegeta had disappeared from sight.

"Of course he is!" Bulma hissed back.

"Whatever. If he ever does anything to hurt you, babe, you let me know." The Z-Fighter rearranged himself on the bed, finding a more comfortable position. It took a lot of self-control for Bulma to keep from making a snarky comment about the irony of that statement. Vegeta was an _arse –_ and at times could be downright _cold -_ but he'd never done anything callous that was intended to specifically hurt her. Yamcha, on the other hand, had never laid a hand on the Bluehead, but he certainly had made it a habit of making verbal jabs when he was feeling cornered in an argument. Bulma bit her tongue, trying to remind herself that she'd decided to try and move on from their most recent fight.

The truth was, though, that Bulma had been feeling sick to her stomach ever since the Z-Fighter had knocked on her door. This definitely hadn't been their first fight. In the past, despite how furious she'd become with the immature Z-Fighter during one of their fueds, she was always happy to see his face and eager to move on after receiving an apology. This time however, as he wrapped his hands around her waist after she answered the door, Bulma found herself turning her head to avoid receiving a wet peck on the lips. The thought of _kissing_ _him_ made her want to gag – the thought of him touching her just felt _wrong!_ And, despite how upset she'd been with Yamcha as of late, the realization that she didn't want to be anywhere near him was a hard burden to swallow. Shouldn't she at least feel _comfortable_ when he tried to hug her? Shouldn't she feel _something_ other than repulsion?

It had only been a few minutes, and she was still in the shock of it as she watched him laying on her bed. "Why don't you come over here, B?" Yamcha was saying now, patting the empty space next to him as he reclined against the headboard. "You seem like something's bothering you."

If she hadn't been so overwhelmed with an odd sense of grief, thinking that this time her relationship with Yamcha might _truly_ be over, she would have snapped something back about how insensitive he was. This was the first time in nearly a month that they were together in the same room, and he was already acting as if nothing had happened between them, and that he hadn't done anything wrong! But Bulma, who was so distracted by her own worrying thoughts, couldn't even bother to say anything back. Instead she slowly stepped towards the bed, taking a reluctant seat next to the Z-Fighter, gulping down the lump that was weighing in her throat. The two had been together for so long – _why_ did it give her anxiety to think about him wanting to _embrace_ her? Why was it that, even as he attempted to wrap an arm around her shoulders, all she could think about was the image of Vegeta's chiseled muscles? Why did the idea of rekindling things with Yamcha feel like a _betrayal_ to the hotheaded saiyan? Vegeta had made it quite obvious that he wanted little to do with her - there was _nothing_ to _betray! _What was_ _ **wrong**_ _with her?__

She had shrugged off Yamcha's arm, and he was now attempting to wrap it around her shoulders again. She scooted away from him this time, shaking her head. "What's wrong?" Yamcha asked, his voice taking on a sad tone. In the past this might have worked to make her feel guilty for being so upset, but now when she heard it she wanted to do nothing less than hurl.

"This is too soon." Bulma announced, standing back on her feet and stepping away from the bed. "I'm sorry. But I can't-"

"How are we supposed to _make up_ if you won't even let me get near you?" Yamcha cut in.

"Because I'm still upset, okay!" Bulma shot back. She went to her desk, where a glass of water was resting, and downed the drink with one nervous swig. There was _too_ much on her mind – it was swirling with _too many_ thoughts! Was she really as repulsed by Yamcha as she thought she was? Or were her feelings about him just being hindered because of her sudden attraction towards Vegeta? Hell – she'd _always_ found Vegeta to be a treat for the eyes, and never before had it been enough to affect her feelings towards Yamcha!

Was it because the two had been on a break for so long, and it would simply take time for them to fall back into the swing of things?

Was she just too stressed about the _damned_ spaceship to emotionally focus on romance?

_What was going on?!_

"Did you hear me?!"

Bulma shook her head, snapping out of her own thoughts. Her heart was pounding now, and she was fighting back the urge to burst into tears. There was a tightening in her stomach – a feeling of impending doom. A sinking sensation that was telling her that nothing would ever be quite the same. A voice in her head that was whispering that she and Yamcha were never going to move past this latest quarrel. But she wasn't ready to hear it – this was all still too fresh for her to comprehend.

"Hello? Hey – Bulma! What's _with_ you?" Yamcha was waving his hands in the air now, looking like a mad puppet who didn't know how to control his arms. "Are you gonna say _anything_ , babe?"

"I think you should go." Bulma blurted. It nearly came out as a cough, and she really did feel as if she were about to choke.

" _What_?" Yamcha sat upright. Any concern that had been on his face quickly transitioned to anger, and he slammed a hand down on the blanket beneath him. "You're the one who asked me to come all the way over here, and now you're telling me to leave!? What for!?"

Kami, she wasn't ready to tell him how she was feeling. She still needed to process everything – to make sense of her own thoughts – and she hated it. This limbo that their relationship was in had been going on for long enough, and the last thing she wanted was to lie to him and let things continue. But she just _couldn't_ express to him how she felt – not yet! She needed a few days to think things over! She needed to understand things herself before confessing it all to him! Bulma shook her head, her veins bubbling with anxiety as she struggled to clear her mind of that _damned_ Saiyan Prince! It was driving her crazy! Even in a moment like this, he was _still_ on her mind!

"Are you gonna even answer me, or are you just gonna stare all day?!" Yamcha was yelling now. It was almost amazing to see how upset he was! Even if he didn't know _what_ she was feeling - he shouldn't have been too surprised that she wasn't perfectly fine. They hadn't even _talked_ about what had happened between them. She had a right to be mad.

"I'm sorry, okay!" She finally shot back. "I thought I was ready to discuss everything with you, but I just need more time!"

Before she had even finished speaking Yamcha had already kicked himself off the bed. "Man, _whatever!_ " He snapped back. "Thanks for nothing, Bulma!" And with that, he was gone. Bulma walked to her door to watch as he made his way down the hall and towards the stairs. She listened as his footsteps stomped across the downstairs living room, through the foyer, and out the front door. She was light-headed, both with guilt and anger, as she leaned against her doorframe. Lamenting the fact that she hadn't just been honest, she cursed herself as she sighed. She hated to leave things in the state that they were in. Not only did she deserve better for herself, but she _owed_ it to him. They'd been together for the better part of a decade, hadn't they?! With a groan she shook her head. She was still overwhelmed with the need to sob. The Bluehead was about to turn back into her bedroom, wanting nothing more in that moment than to lay down and try to calm her mind. Something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye though, and Bulma looked up to see Vegeta standing at the door of his own room. He was leaning against the doorframe, much like her, but there was a triumphant grin on his face rather than the remorse she was exhibiting. He had his arms crossed over his chest, staring at her, and somehow this filled Bulma with even more dread than she was already facing. "So." He said. "That went well, didn't it?"

"Shut up." She replied, furrowing her eyebrows.

"What was _he_ doing here, anyway?" Vegeta continued. He pushed himself out from the doorframe and began to make his way towards her. Bulma wasn't too happy about where this conversation was going, but she was just relieved to see that Vegeta was at least wearing _clothes_ now. "As long as I am staying here, that idiot shouldn't be allowed to come anywhere near this house." He was saying.

"Right!" Bulma hissed sarcastically. Truth be told, she'd been so upset that she had completely forgotten why she'd invited Yamcha over in the first place. But now, after hearing Vegeta's cocky words, she could remember. It was because of _him!_ That saiyan telling her what she could and couldn't do had only motivated her to defy him, and she'd been determined to make up with Yamcha just to prove a point! What a fool she was! Once again Vegeta had gotten so far under her skin that she'd gotten herself into trouble after basing her actions on emotion! Vegeta was standing right in front of her now, and she took a step back into her room. "Don't you forget what I told you yesterday. My social interactions are _none_ of your business." She brandished the door threateningly, as if she would slam it in his face at any moment. "I'll call _whoever_ I want, _whenever_ I want, and I'll be **damned** if you think you can tell me otherwise!"

Vegeta clenched his jaw at this. He'd assumed that Yamcha had invited himself over, but she had actually been the one to initiate such a thing? Was she _really_ so dense? "I thought you both broke." He commented. _Broke_. Earth terms were so bizarre.

"We were _on_ a _break!_ " The Bluehead corrected. "Why should _you_ care, anyway!"

"Don't flatter yourself!" The saiyan snarled. "What you do during your off-time is of no concern to me! The only thing I'm bothered by is the fact that you don't seem to have the ability to prevent your imbecile matters from affecting your productivity with my ship!"

"I told you it'll be done soon enough!" Bulma retorted. Her words ended in a pant, her chest heaving as she glared at the man in front of her. Vegeta had to fight to keep the surprise from showing on his face. Even as he watched, he could see her large blue eyes glistening as they quickly welled with tears. ' _Oh, no.'_ He thought. But why was she going to cry _this time_? It seemed that Yamcha had a talent for reducing her to such a state – but, then again, Vegeta had seen her doing the same thing for _him…_ So, what was it? Had Yamcha done something to her before his loud departure? Or perhaps had Vegeta's harsh behavior been the thing that had caused this? Had he pushed her over the edge? He didn't want her to look at him the way she did. He didn't want her to speak to him in such a soft voice when they weren't in the middle of an argument! And, more than anything else, he didn't _want_ to care. Vegeta was the prince of all saiyans! It shouldn't matter to him if some puny Earth girl was sobbing in front of him – so _why_ did it make him so _damned_ uncomfortable?!

"I'll get your stupid ship done then!" Bulma snapped, her voice cracking. She didn't want him to see when the tears finally fell, and she was far past the point of being able to hold them in. "I'm sick and tired of you giving me crap about the ship! I'll work overnight and finish it for once and for all!" She made to brush past him, to storm off towards the lab, but he stepped out to block her path. "Get away from me, you _jerk!_ " She hissed as she turned away to hide her face. The first of her tears were following, and now her voice was starting to quiver. "Get out of my way!"

"No."

"What do you mean _no_?!"

"Go back to your room."

This was enough to make her look up, and she raised her eyebrows as lines of tears rolled down her cheeks. " _What_?"

Vegeta was the one looking away now. He glared down at his own feet, unable to look her in the eyes. "Just go back to your room. I can wait until the end of the week."

"But..." Bulma wondered if this was some type of trick. "Why the sudden change? Just a second ago you were-"

"Go back into your room, _Woman_!" Vegeta said, shaking his head as he continued to scowl at his feet. "I would much rather you take your time than to rush yourself and make mistakes in the programming. As long as it is done before the end of the week, I can wait."

She looked at him, wiping the tears away as she considered his words. Here it was again. The same man that could be so incredibly difficult and arrogant was now showing her some type of kindness that he was attempting to disguise with his criticizing words. She didn't know what had caused him to suddenly change his mind, but it seemed that he'd suddenly realized just how hurtful he'd been. "Vegeta," She said, her voice softening as she calmed. "Are you sure?"

There it was again. That tone in her voice. The one she'd been using more and more frequently around him. He picked his head up to shoot her a stern look, hoping it would mask the odd sensation he was suffering with. He saw her reddened cheeks contrasting with her naturally pale skin. The surprised look on her face despite the sadness that was lulling in her eyes. And, without saying another word, he turned away. He went for his room – the same room he'd been sleeping in since he'd begun staying at the Briefs residence nearly five months earlier. The pounding of his heart was making him uneasy. ' _Hate.'_ He told himself, even though he knew it wasn't true. _'Hate_ _. I hate this, and that's why I feel so insane.'_

He could hear as she shut her door once again. Vegeta could make out the sound of her mattress creaking as she threw herself into it. And he rolled his eyes when he heard a soft squeak, a sob that she had failed to muffle. "Why does she torture herself by seeking the company of _Him_?" The saiyan growled. It was obvious that Yamcha's presence only had an ill-effect on her. Why did she seem so eager to accept that?

_Wait a minute..._

Vegeta raised his eyebrows as he shut off the light. Why should **he** care if she wanted to inflict herself with such pain? The saiyan cursed, laying down on his bed without bothering to get under the covers. "No - I don't care what she does…" He muttered, closing his eyes. The memory of her in his arms as he saved her _foolish_ body from falling had been haunting him each night since the occurrence, and this night was no exception. He grit his teeth, trying to force the image of her face out of his mind as he rolled over. He was desperate to forget about how strange it was to have her clinging to him with so much trust as he'd flown.

_Trust?_

Why should she trust him? And why did he care what she did with _Yamcha_? He rolled over to his other side, groaning as he heard another sob creak from her room. "I just wish she'd concern herself with someone more fitting..." He growled. "Anyone else would do, really. _A_ _nyone but him_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who had been reading this, leaving kudos, and offering feedback. Again, this story was mainly written as a building block of foundation between the characters. The continuation of this story, simply called "The 3 Year Gap", will be posted within the next 24 hours. I have it written already, but I'd love to have the chance to proof-read before I post it. (It seems that no matter how many times I re-read and edit I will always catch something that I want to fix!)  
> I hope you've enjoyed this. It's certainly been fun for me!


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